


Night Watch

by ElwritesFanworks



Category: A Way Out (Video Game)
Genre: (seriously brief but part of the whole orphanage situation), Awkward Sexual Situations, Bisexuality, Gay Panic, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Period-Typical Homophobia, Prison, Sexual Fantasy, Slurs, Threesome fantasy, a bit cracky in that sexual realizations are not typically this abrupt, call it suspension of disbelief, guys being dudes, he cant just enjoy the booty and move on, he needs to know if the booty makes him gay, lack of privacy because prison, lots of unhealthy justifications, lowkey femdom, semi-public masturbation because prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 12:06:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14308293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElwritesFanworks/pseuds/ElwritesFanworks
Summary: Leo has an epiphany regarding Vincent Moretti. He's almost come to terms with it when Moretti throws him a curve ball. Sometimes the smallest courtesy can feel like something deeply intimate, and Leo can't for the life of him figure out if he's bothered by that fact.





	Night Watch

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: TRIGGER WARNING to a brief allusion to some of the orphanage staff where Leo grew up being a bit inappropriate/predatory towards the teen boys. It's brief but it's there. Also seriously, there's a lot of internalized prejudice in this fic, because I love angst, so I laid it on thick.
> 
> I was watching Lordminion777's playthrough of this and he kept making jokes about how Leo's fixated on Vincent's ass after seeing it in the showers and somehow that turned into this fanfic of Leo developing a bit of an attraction that he can't shake (and then proceeding to be melodramatic about it.)
> 
> I love prison tropes and gay panic tropes and guys-being-unsure-re-sexuality tropes so this was inevitable I guess. Also, all details are confirmed via the wiki as the playthrough I'm watching is only part way through the game so far. (That said, I know the major spoilers already, but still, I'm gonna hold the wiki as law until I'm done watching this thing.)

* * *

He was taking a shit when he realized the awful truth. It was not the ideal moment for such an epiphany but seemed fitting nonetheless. He supposed he should’ve figured it out earlier when he’d started dragging his fork through the congealed gravy enveloping his lumpy mashed potatoes, but he didn’t. Even when another inmate noticed and snorted, cracked wise at him for being so horny (as if anyone locked in this hellhole wasn’t in the same damn boat himself,) he had just assumed it ended there. He was horny, he was daydreaming, he was drawing asses in his gravy.

Leo didn’t really consider himself an ass man, to begin with. He liked asses okay, sure, but if a girl caught his eye it was usually a combination of things that did it, not least of which were her legs. He liked a girl with shapely calves, long lines leading up to a trim waist and shapely hips – not too wide, but wide enough to rest his hands on when he was inside her. Still… a nice ass was a bonus. So, he was drawing asses, and not legs. So, what? Didn’t mean nothin’.

Or so he thought. Now, mid-epiphany, with cheap institutional toilet paper wadded up in one hand and the tip of the index finger of his other hand frozen, poised to finish tracing the last bit of the outermost curve of an ass against his bent knee, Leo realized just whose ass he was drawing.

He felt a bit sick, and a bit like an alien version of himself – like he’d just stepped into Leo Caruso’s body and had no idea who he was or how all the parts moved. He was stunned. He’d been thinking of Moretti’s ass for the last two weeks. Not just thinking of it. Paying fucking homage to it, worshipfully capturing its likeness whenever he had the chance.

_Fuck._

Not being the most introspective of fellows, Leo had no idea what to do with the information now that it had made itself known. Panicking, he ran through all the vaguely relevant points his brain came up with. He hadn’t had sex since being locked up. He hadn’t so much as _seen_ a pair of tits since one of the guys had smuggled a girlie magazine out into the yard – and even then, all he’d gotten was a three second peek at the centerfold before a guard had confiscated the damn thing. So, he was hard up. Didn’t mean nothin’. So, he was thinking about asses and – and _what?_ He couldn’t pretend Moretti had a feminine-looking ass. It looked good for a guy his age, sure – he had to be in his early forties – and it wasn’t pockmarked or hairy or anything. But still. It was just a regular ass. A regular _man’s_ ass, at that.

_Yeah, and what else is there to think about in a place like this anyway? The only scenery in here’s bars and cells and dicks and asses. It’s all just one big metaphor or somethin’. Don’t make me a fag to notice the irony of it all._

Still, Leo felt a little panicked. More than a little, really. Quite a bit. He felt very panicked. He’d taken his fair share of punches over less evidence than this as a little guy. Kids could be real dumb, and a lot of them seemed to think that a boy taking care of his appearance, styling his hair and working out, meant he was after something. Didn’t help that some of the orphanage staff seemed all too keen to give him whatever it was. Not that they ever tried it, of course – Leo’d have broken the fingers of anyone who so much as suggested the idea – but still. People noticed. People noticed the people noticing. People wagged tongues. A boy needed to grow up with the right kind of male attention – the kind his no-good dad had denied him by dumping his ass in the orphanage and never bothering to come back. You didn’t want a kid to grow up without a father – he’d get hungry for paternal approval and go looking for it in all the wrong places. It’s part of what worried him about being locked up – not being there for his son. If he wasn’t there to give the kid appropriate attention, what inappropriate source would he wind up going to? And could he even give his kid appropriate guidance – be the sort of father a boy’d look up to – if he turned out to be the sort of guy who got turned in here. Bad enough to be behind bars, but to start bending over for other men – how’d he ever be able to face his kid as anything but a failure?

Maybe he was a cautionary tale. Yeah. Maybe that’s what it was. Some wire crossed somewhere. Didn’t have to be a death sentence. Didn’t mean nothin’. So, he could notice Moretti’s ass from time to time – he didn’t have to get on his knees for him. Just the thought of it made his stomach clench up, anyway. That was proof that he must be mistaken. His son wouldn’t have a fag for a father – he’d forget about it and no one would ever know and it wouldn’t follow him like some kind of ghost when he got out. Everything was going to be fine.

_But what it if it did mean somethin’ – what if –_

“Psst. Hey, Leo. You okay?”

Leo jolted out of his thoughts, half-rising to his feet before remembering what he’d been in the middle of before he’d trailed off. He sat back down, awkward and uncomfortable.

“Yeah, why?” he hissed back. Of all the times for Moretti to stick his nose in – God. He winced as he gave himself a particularly harsh anal sanding with the coarse grain of the toilet paper, got up, flushed, and ambled over to their shared wall. “Whaddaya want?”

“Nothing. Just – heard you go to the can a while ago and you never finished up. It was long enough I worried you’d died or something.”

“Do you usually listen to people when they’re takin’ a shit?”

“I can hear just about everything you do in there. Some kind of acoustics situation, I dunno. I’m not an architect.”

“Yeah, well. I’m fine.”

“Good to know.”

His nonchalant tone was grating for some reason. Leo grit his teeth.

“Goodnight,” he spat, and then wished he’d just said nothing. It only made things more awkward.

“Mm,” Moretti grunted in agreement.

Leo walked away from the wall.

When the guard came around to check the cells the first time after lights out, Leo lay still in his bed, feigning sleep. Underneath his blanket, his heart was going like a jackhammer against his spinal column. He couldn’t shake those words out of his head.

_I can hear just about everything you do in there._

Fuck. It was bad enough that he could hear him on the toilet but if he could hear everything, then he could probably hear him –

No. Not necessarily. Sound carried differently. Maybe all he heard was the pipes in the toilet, the flush. _Just about everything. How much was ‘just about,’ anyway?_ Leo was quiet when he touched himself – he’d learned how to be in the orphanage. He’d never had the luxury of being loud – even with Linda he tended to keep his lip zipped. She liked it when he didn’t – tried to push him, when they had the time, and usually she had ways of making him talk, so to speak. But still. It wasn’t natural for him to make noise. Moretti was probably just messing with him. Maybe he’d found out about the gravy ass portraits and this was some kind of elaborate psychological revenge.

Fuck, he couldn’t breathe. His chest felt like there was a huge weight on it. That wasn’t all that was wrong, either. Maybe it was the thought of Linda taking the time to bite and suck his nipples until they were sore, then pinching them hard while she rode him like a professional. Maybe it was just some kind of fear-arousal – like the first time he’d been in a fistfight where someone pulled a knife out and he’d had to duck into an alley in defeat to jack off.  Sometimes things just got screwed up and you got it up for no reason. Could’ve just been that. Regardless, Leo was hard as a rock beneath his sheets, and no matter how desperately he willed it to go down and let him sleep, his dick was defiantly holding its ground.

The uneasy feeling didn’t really make sense – this was prison. Hell, guards had seen him beating off a handful of times. The good ones just looked away and let him finish – the real fascists would bang on the bars until he flipped them off and gave up. None of that embarrassed him – if anything, it just steeled him to the indignity of this place, made him want to get out all the more. Why did the thought of Moretti listening to it, then, bother him so much?

He stewed, miserable, obstinately refusing to give himself relief, even when one of the guard’s flashlight beams lingered on the tent he was pitching under the sheet and the bastard laughed at him. He waited until the guard was gone and he could hear snoring coming from Moretti’s side of the wall before discretely spitting in his hand, reaching down, and taking hold of his cock.

His first thought, of course, was of Linda. How warm she was – how soft in his arms. How she smelled. He made a tight ring with his fingers, pushed up into it. Imagined pushing into her. She’d be tight after so much time of him being away. Wet, too. He wondered if she’d ever got herself off while he was away. For all some girls liked to act high and mighty, he knew most of them liked to get off as much as men. Linda was no exception. He’d caught her, once, sitting on the washing machine, curling her toes, and he’d knelt down and stuck his tongue in her. She’d pulled his hair the way he liked it, really got rough near the end, and soaked him down his chin – she’d never done that before. She’d let him fuck her in the ass that day – said he’d deserved something special for being the first guy to get her to really come.

Leo bit down hard on his lower lip, fingers swiping over precum as it oozed out from the tip. Fuck. Asses again. He’d all but forgotten that time – she’d let him go in bare, skin-on-skin. She’d been shaking the whole time – she’d talked a big game but confessed later that the most she’d ever had up there were two of her own slender fingers when she’d been curious. He’d felt smug as hell to see her limping the next day, even if he had blown his load only a few minutes – and inches – inside.

_Moretti would look good limpin’ like that._

Leo froze, sweat beading on his forehead. Fuck. How did a memory of having Linda in the laundry room turn into… that? He grimaced, perplexed when he didn’t feel himself go even a little soft. If anything he got harder. He tried to imagine Linda’s breathy cry when she came on his face, but he couldn’t focus on it. Fantasy-Moretti’s eyes burned into him, looking over his shoulder as he bent at the waist, reached back, and pried his cheeks apart. There was jizz in his ass, dripping out of his hole and down the back of his balls, slicking the distance in between. _My cum,_ he thought, _or somebody else’s?_ Did it matter? He felt an irrational stab of anger at the idea of Moretti being the kind of man who’d let anyone (anyone _else)_ fuck him. Moretti wasn’t a queer – there was no way he’d do something like that. No – if he let a man do it, it’d be because he wanted to prove something or as part of a transaction –

_He needs to get out of here, same as me. If it came with a price… like… a favor for a favor…_

He couldn’t finish verbalizing the thought in his internal monologue. The image was enough. He could see the two of them, in the yard, maybe, or the showers, or on the other side of the wall once they’d chiseled out. Fantasy-Moretti – **_Can’t you call me Vincent when you’re balls-deep in my ass?_** Fuck – Vincent – would be strong enough to take it hard – be tighter than any woman Leo’d ever had. He’d be firm and solid and it’d feel damn good to grab him by the back of his neck and push his face down, cheek scraping the ground. He’d leave bruises on those narrow hips and Vincent would just take it, rocking back to meet the thrusts, one hand braced against he ground, one hand tugging roughly on his angry-red prick.

**_Leo, give me a hand, man, come on. Don’t be an asshole._ **

_I think you’re the ‘asshole’ in this situation._

But he would – he’d reach under and feel the weight of him in his hand, thick and hot. More than that – he’d _want to._ Fuck – Leo’d never held another guy’s piece before. He wondered how it’d feel – if it’d weird him out like it should. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

“G’nna come,” Leo hissed under is breath, hand speeding up as it slid along his shaft. “Oh, fuck…”

He arched his back, heels digging into the thin, lumpy mattress beneath him. His bed creaked, old springs protesting to the rhythmic shifting of his hips.

 “Come on,” Leo growled, brow knit with frustration.

He heard the footsteps of the guard come and go – one of the nice ones. He was gonna be allowed to finish. The brief disruption made him lose his focus. When he imagined Vincent again, the image had changed. Linda liked him on his back, vulnerable beneath her. Leo liked it too, but you couldn’t afford to be like that in this place. Still, logistics aside, the idea of Vincent squatting over him, riding him, made his dick twitch. He could imagine him easily, in the shadow of the dimly lit cell, sinking low down onto his lap, taking him all the way in, and rolling his hips, slow, slow, dragging it out. Making him work for it.

Arms bracketing his head, pinning him down – it should’ve been terrifying but in the lustful haze of self-pleasure, Leo felt good in it. Safe. Able to let his guard down long enough to block it out – as if the staff would let two prisoners fuck in the open like that. No, they’d be coming to split them up, tell them off, only –

**_Let me handle it. Just focus on this._ **

On tight, hot perfection clamping down on his prick. On stubble rasping coarsely against his cheek. Scalding breath on his ear.

**_Come on, you’re nearly there. Attaboy…_ **

It was fucked up, that the tenderness made his eyes water. More fucked up that it made him croon out a needy, pitiful whine, one hand dropping down to catch his load and the other moving further southward still. He crooked his leg, pulled it towards his chest. Calloused palm against his balls, and then a single fingertip. He didn’t want it inside him – the thought made him sick – but he supposed Vincent might try something – Fantasy-Vincent, that was. He scraped the finger over his hole and whimpered at the dry sensation, rubbing just this side of painful against his rim, still sore from the rough scrub of cheap paper. His hand slid awkwardly – he couldn’t find an angle that felt natural.

_Why should it feel natural – what the fuck am I doing?_

He pulled his fingers away from his ass and resolutely imagined the nicest pussy he could – warm, pink, inviting. He sighed in relief, mentally returning to fucking Linda in the laundry room, crisis averted. Only – only fuck, no, it wasn’t because Fantasy-Moretti was still there, too, and – no, no way was he gonna use Linda like that. If he had to, Leo’d suck him off himself, just to preserve her dignity.

Oh, fuck. It shouldn’t have made his hips jump, imagining Linda leaning over to kiss Vincent, all tongues, like a porno, her soft, wet cunt working Leo’s dick over as he lay on the floor like a dead fish, belly-up and useless. Leo flung an arm across his face and couldn’t help but open his mouth to it, licking the sensitive skin at his wrist. He wouldn’t let Vincent put his cock down his throat but he wouldn’t be culpable if he just opened his mouth a little – not really.  He had no idea what it would taste like – he’d never had any desire to experiment on himself where that was concerned. Linda didn’t seem to mind it, and fantasy-Linda, he thought, would like to see it – like to see another man using her husband’s face as a surface to rub off against.

“Hey, Leo.”

“Fuck!”

Leo sat bolt upright, blanket pooling at his waist, and struggled to tuck himself back into his shorts. He staggered towards the source of the voice and growled with all the warmth of a bear roused from hibernation.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“You’ve been at it a while. Just… wanted to make sure you didn’t die or something.”

Leo’s cheeks burned and he resisted the urge to punch the wall – Vincent wouldn’t feel it and all it’d do was split his knuckles.

“You some kind of a faggot or somethin’? Listenin’ to me jackin’ off?”

“You’re a bit defensive there, bud. You’re the one who started attracting attention.”

“Attracting atten – whaddaya mean?”

“You’ve been loud enough to be annoying for what feels like a decade. If you can’t come, then give up and go to bed and let the rest of the world get some sleep.”

“I can so come!” Leo spat. “What would you know about it? Listenin’ at the wall like some kind of creep.”

“Just come, then – fuck, I’m too tired for this shit.”

“What – standin’ in the middle of the damn room?”

“If it makes you shut up, sure.”

He couldn’t see Vincent from this angle but he sounded genuinely tired, and more than a little pissed off.

“Yeah, right. The guard’s use me as a punching bag for that one.”

“Not if you don’t take forty more years. Night shift just switched over. You’ve got a good five minutes, if you hurry up.”

Something clenched in Leo’s chest. He wasn’t sure if it was nausea or some sort of sick sense of sentimentality.

“You’d keep watch?”

“What else am I gonna do – you’re keeping me awake anyway.”

“Right… uh… thanks.”

His tongue felt clumsy in his mouth, and pulling his underwear down low enough to free his dick made him a little dizzy. He pressed his forehead against the cool wall and spit straight down onto the head of his cock, which bounced eagerly at the stimulation.

“Oh, God…” he muttered, daring to shut one eye as he fucked his fist, no finesse this time, just enough speed and skill to get him to the finish. “Oh, fuck.”

“You close?” Moretti whispered. Leo’s eyes bugged out.

“W-what?”

“We don’t have to talk – only, I think one of the guards forgot something. He’s coming back this way.”

“Damn it – how much time do I –?”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. When his orgasm hit, it caught him by surprise, rolling through him like someone forcing the last dregs of toothpaste out of the tube. He caught most of the evidence, though he heard a drop or two hit the floor. Oh well. He had enough time for Vincent to whisper a warning and for him to wipe his hand down on the inside of his shorts before he dove back under his covers and lay still, feigning sleep and feeling like he was a kid again, back at the orphanage, caught after curfew.

It was only after the guard left again that the blood in Leo’s ears stopped rushing and he could hear a new sound in the otherwise quiet cell-block. Moretti was, quietly, laughing.


End file.
